


The “Elementary” Years (1904-1906)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [222]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Christmas, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fanfiction, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Retirement, Suffragettes, Sussex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 23:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11931276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The first two years of Sherlock's and John's glorious (and sex-filled) retirement.





	1. Russians And Red Hats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ginger_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_angel/gifts).



1904

As I have said, I would not have been Doctor John Watson, M.D, had I not entertained doubts as to whether Sherlock would truly be able to retire with me to our little cottage in the country. I fully expected some major drama to drag him back to London within weeks if not days, and although I tried not to express these fears, he must surely have known, because he knew me so well. There may or may not have been rather more manly embracing than usual in our first few weeks in our new home, but there was definitely no cuddling whatsoever.

_How the blazes could I hear him smirking in the next room?_

Typically, we had a scare almost within a month of our arrival to our own private heaven. In October a Russian fleet, presumably overdosed on vodka, sailed into the North Sea and contrived to mistake a fleet of British trawlers for the Japanese Navy! The Russians duly fired on them (and each other!), sinking one fishing-boat. The Royal Navy was scrambled to pursue, and the Czar very quickly agreed to set the matter before an independent international tribunal. Sherlock did receive several frantic telegrams from his brother Bacchus over the matter, although fortunately the lounge-lizard did not appear at our door, as the man-traps had not yet arrived. Rather curiously, Mr. Lucius Holmes wrote to us with the news that the rat was not leaving London after an 'unfortunate incident' at Charing Cross Station which had left him severely shocked. Oh well, if it kept the pest away from us, all well and good.

There is a lot of nonsense written about Victorians today, and even though we were now technically Edwardians, the country had not changed much. Looking back from beyond the Great War (and before what looks like being a second such nightmare 'courtesy' of the vile Herr Hitler), many people today think that we were far too prudish, always sour-faced and prone to moralizing. It is true that society had a higher moral code in those days - and was all the better for it, in my humble opinion - but people were a lot more tolerant that some modern writers claim. I have no doubt that the villagers amongst whom we now lived very quickly came to understand exactly what sort of relationship we had, yet there were no cross words or raised eyebrows. As the old saying goes, provided it was with consenting adults and didn't frighten the horses, people really didn't mind what other people did. The modern habit for openly flaunting one's private life is, I feel, quite vulgar.

Sherlock had just come in and made an improper suggestion about flaunting privates, which quite made me lose my train of thought. And now he is giving me another look! I shall have to resume my writings later - provided that I can still hold a pen by that time. Excuse me....

+~+~+

Our first Christmas in the cottage was memorable, as I possibly went a little overboard in my decorating (all right, I went mad!). Although I was sure that neither Mrs. Singer nor Mrs. Lindberg would have cared just how many decorations we had put up in our rooms, there was always a slight restraint knowing that, at the end of the day, 221B was someone else's house, no matter how much it felt like ours. Now I was free to decorate everything and anything, and I duly did. The vicar, round for a visit one day, remarked that it looked like Christmas had exploded inside the place, but Sherlock loved it, and I shall always cherish the memory of him wearing the Santa hat with the little bell on it. 

No, not on his head. Jingle all the way!


	2. Suggestions And Digestions

1905

During our first full year in the cottage, I completed writing up all our remaining cases and supplied them in a steady stream to both the “Strand” magazine and my publishers. Neither of them knew our address; all our correspondence went through Mrs. Lindberg in Baker Street, and it was through her that I received a continuing stream of what Sherlock laughingly called 'fan mail'. I bore in mind that 'fan' was an abbreviation of fanatic, as some of the people who wrote to me.... well, even after all the different varieties of sex that I had experienced with Sherlock, I was still shocked! Though perhaps I was grateful for some of the suggestions, even the ones that turned out to be physically impossible (we had proving that!). And a special note of thanks must go at this point to the mysterious C.W, writing all the way from the United States of America, whose set of works “The Highly Elastic Adventures of Jens Ecklesen and Demetrius Collingbourne”, were more than instructive. It took us weeks to work through them all, and Bob, our postman, chuckled darkly at the sudden rise in parcel deliveries to the cottage, as well as at my more than usually dishevelled state around those times. I would have scowled at him, but I did not have the energy.

That summer saw the Moroccan (or Tangiers) Crisis, the first of three alarms that could have precipitated a global conflict when the German Kaiser attempted to split the recently established Entente Cordiale between Great Britain and France by prising Morocco away from the French. I was not alone in having my doubts on the matter, although the British government stood by their new allies and the Germans backed down – this time.

In October a chance arose to travel to London to hear a Trafalgar Day promenade concert, which would feature a new piece by Mr. Henry Wood. I was initially reluctant to go, mostly because I feared any disruption to my happy existence, but Sherlock eventually 'persuaded' me (use your imagination!). We could have travelled on to Baker Street to see Mr. and Mrs. Lindberg afterwards, but Sherlock arranged to meet them instead at my old Trafalgar Street restaurant. I was doubly glad at that; 221B belonged to the past now, and I wanted to remember it fondly whilst walking boldly into my future with the man I loved. 

Although after our night at the hotel in London, walking was something I could only do with great difficulty. And those London cabs were even bumpier than I remembered!

This was also the year that the militant suffragette movement began to make its presence felt, and as I had predicted - a certain blue-eyed genius is muttering something about wiseacres as I write this! - the public reaction was hostile. Votes for women would come, just as the last century had brought three great acts that had led to about sixty per cent of (mostly propertied) men having a vote, but this sort of direct action served only to antagonize people, and press criticism was particularly fierce. The suffragette movement did however claim one early casualty; Mr. Ranulph Holmes followed up a barnstorming speech at an anti-suffragette rally with a huge meal, and promptly dropped dead of a heart-attack! 

Perhaps I was wrong to say that the suffragettes were _all_ bad....


	3. Hercules At Large

1906

Two years into my and Sherlock's time at the cottage, and mercifully the public seemed have accepted his retirement, which had been announced at the end of our adventure in Oxfordshire (“His Last Bow”) published that May. One magazine lamented the loss of 'that great Hercules', which bearing in mind that particular legendary character's chequered career, I found rather odd. True, Sherlock had rid the world of pests like the Greek hero had done, but without the acts of brutality and slaying of his own family (though having said that, with Sherlock's family.....). Then again, even if my man did not look like the archetypal strongman, that appearance had been the undoing of more than one criminal who had underestimated him as a result. Besides, as I have said before, he was more than Herculean in, ahem, some areas.

Oh come on! Do I have to do _all_ the work here?

That summer we were due to visit the Singers in Eastbourne. We had intended to travel by train from Acklington Station but, a few days before we set out, there was the terrible and seemingly inexplicable Salisbury railway accident, when some twenty-eight people lost their lives as a South Western train inexplicably tried to take a sharp curve at far too high a speed. Sherlock, of course, knew immediately of my concerns, and instead suggested hiring a trap in the village and going by road. It was considerably slower, but I enjoyed the journey, especially as we passed a lonely and deserted barn on the way there. 

Well, we did not totally pass it. I remembered that painting in the London studio of the angel Castiel, and decided that we might as well do our own little re-enactment of it. Even if the looks we got from our former landlady and her husband were ones of un-surprised resignation (I was sure that I saw Bobby handing over some money as we climbed the stairs). The very long stairs.

We took the same route back. With the same stop.

It was just a week after that wonderful trip that a chain of events began which would end in my being horribly embarrassed.


End file.
